Mutability

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;How restlessly they speed, and gleam, and quiver,Streaking the darkness radiantly!—yet soonNight closes round, and they are lost for ever:

Or like forgotten lyres, whose dissonant strings 5Give various response to each varying blast,To whose frail frame no second motion bringsOne mood or modulation like the last.

We rest.—A dream has power to poison sleep:We rise.—One wandering thought pollutes the day;10We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep;Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:

It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,The path of its departure still is free:Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;15Nought may endure but Mutability.